


A Lesson in Parenting

by orphan_account



Series: Becoming Hamish Watson-Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Education, Fluff, Gen, Homophobia, Love, M/M, Parentlock, Parents, School, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have cared for Hamish for two years, and for the first time, he's in trouble at school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Parenting

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Mr Clarke, headmaster of St Isaac's? I believe that Hamish Jones lives at your home?”

John was rather confused as he listened to the headmaster's deep voice. Sherlock and John had taken in Hamish, a distant relative of Sherlock's, almost two years previously, and in that time had never heard from him.

“Yes, Hamish is myself and my husband's foster son. Is there a problem?”

“Hamish has been in a fight with another student, and has given him a black eye and a scratch on his face. He's been suspended for the day, and you need to come in for a meeting.”

John winced. “Now?”

“Yes, as you need to pick Hamish up, too.”

John nodded unconsciously to himself, too surprised as Hamish's behaviour to realise that nodding down the phone was futile.

“I'll be right there.”

* * *

 

“It wasn't my fault.”

“So you didn't punch poor George in the face and scratch him, too?”

“Yes, I did, but-”

“Then it's your fault.”

The small office seemed unbearably tense to eleven year old Hamish, who was glowering at the wall just above the headmaster's head, his blue eyes bright with fury. A purple bruise was flowering across his own cheek, which Mr Clarke was conveniently ignoring.

“George started it!”

“No, he didn't.”

“He called me names!”

“You hit him first, though. You started it.”

Before Hamish could respond (a mixture of curses and insults were bubbling in his head, ready to spill out), there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Mr Clarke called, his voice suddenly kind and inviting. Hamish didn't glance back, but the heavy, slightly one-sided footsteps alerted him immediately to who it was: John. Relief flooded through him. John would understand. John would listen.

“Ah – Mr Watson?”

“Yes, I got here as quickly as I could.”

“Sit down, sit down.”

Hamish risked a quick look at John as the man sat down, and saw that his face was a mixture of anger and worry. Angry at Hamish for being in a fight but concerned as to why it had occurred.

“Hamish had some difficulties settling down when he first came here, but he's had an excellent Year 6 so far. That's why we were all so surprised when a poor boy called George was brought to the designated first aider with a black eye and a bleeding scratch.”

“Why did they fight?” John reasonably asked, casting a look at Hamish which he couldn't read.

“That hasn't been determined because-”

“I tried to tell you!” interrupted Hamish, a shake in his voice, “But you wouldn't listen to me!”

“Hamish has been trying to tell us that George insulted him, but that is no excuse for physical violence.”

“I suppose George is being punished for the bruise that Hamish has, too, then?” John asked, his voice chilly.

“George came out from the scuffle a lot worse than Hamish did, so we didn't feel it was necessary, especially as George was acting in self defence.”

John sighed heavily. “And Hamish is suspended for the day?”

“Yes – I trust that yourself and, ah, Mr Holmes? Will oversee some discipline at home.”

“Certainly, thank you – can I take Hamish home now?”

Mr Clarke nodded, a suspicious look glancing across his face. “Yes.”

* * *

 

No words passed between John and Hamish during the ten minute drive back. Hamish simply wriggled uncomfortably in the passenger seat while John stared at the road, thinking to himself.

“Come on, trouble, inside.” John dryly told the boy, glad to see a small smile appear on Hamish's face. He'd been looking far too pale, and it had really worried John – Hamish was, although quiet and shy, a funny, witty person, and it was unusual for him to be silent and pensive for so long. As soon as they were inside, Hamish made a beeline for his bedroom, only to be called back with a,

“Sit down, Hamish.”

Within a few minutes, both males had a mug of tea and were sat face-to-face. Sherlock was out on a case and wouldn't be back until the evening, so the flat was quiet.

“John, I swear, I didn't start it.”

“I know you didn't.” John told the anxious boy, before taking a sip of too-hot tea just to fill the moment. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Well, some boys were teasing me and I got angry and punched one. He punched me back, so I slapped him and my nail caught his face. Then he got dragged off.”

John dragged on his best 'Captain Watson' look before meeting Hamish's eyes. “And since _when_ was punching an appropriate response to teasing?”

“Sherlock told me to.” Hamish mumbled. A moment later, John choked on his tea when the words really hit him.

“Sherlock?”

“Yeah. I told him I was being bullied at school and he told me to punch them.”

“Why am I not surprised?” John groaned theatrically, still worried at how peaky Hamish looked. “You can't hit people. You should have told a teacher, or Sherlock should have told the school. Hitting people is not a responsible way of dealing with bullying.”

On the few occasions that John had had to lecture Hamish, he had always felt silly and self-conscious, the words coming from his mouth reflecting scoldings from his own childhood. This occasion was no different, as he remembered various fights from his own youth. 

“It was justified.” Hamish simply responded.

“What on _earth_ were they saying that justified a punch?”

“I can't tell you.”

John felt sorry for Hamish, he truly did. In that moment, however, all he felt was a touch of frustration bubbling up.

“Tell me what they said or you're grounded for one week.”

Hamish folded his arms and stared resolutely at John, blue eyes meeting.

“You're grounded.”

Hamish still glared. “Can I leave now? I have homework.” his voice was icy.

“Go, then. Don't forget that you're grounded, though.”

With a heavy, angry sigh, Hamish stormed off to his bedroom.

* * *

 

As soon as Sherlock entered the flat, he was acutely aware of the silence within it. Whenever he was out until evening, he'd usually arrive home to the television blasting and the smell of dinner cooking. Now, however, there was just the dull hum of the boiler and the carpety smell that the flat always had.

“John?”

“Sherlock.”

“Tell me.”

John didn't need to ask what Sherlock wanted to know. “Hamish is in his room, he hasn't come out since we got home. He was suspended today for being in a fight on  _your_ advice.”

One long eyebrow, elegant and in-keeping with the rest of Sherlock's frail frame, shot up. “I never advised him to fight, I merely told him that a punch would deter bullies.”

“He's grounded. He wouldn't tell me what had gone on and I lost it a bit.”

Sherlock's other eyebrow met his first. “How very Captain Watson.”

“Don't act so high-and-mighty! You didn't have to deal with him!”

“I'll go and talk to him.”

* * *

 

After John and Sherlock had moved into Sherlock's bedroom, the second room had become Hamish's. It was a fairly big room, and Hamish always kept it neat and tidy, his books carefully organised, his pencils in a row. When Sherlock entered the room, thus, he was surprised to find it dark, papers strewn everywhere and Hamish lounging half-on, half-off the bed.

“Sherlock?”

“Hamish. How was your day?”

Hamish lugged himself up straight onto the bed and stared challengingly at Sherlock. “Absolutely excellent, how about you?”

“Defensive sarcasm.”

“Alright, Sherlock, don't read me.”

Without further ado, Sherlock dropped himself onto Hamish's bed, staring into the boy's eyes. “Why did you fight with someone?”

“He was teasing me, I did as you told me.”

“What was he teasing you about?”

“I can't tell you.”

“If you tell me, I'll convince Captain Watson to reduce your grounding.”

The distant cousins shared a smile. “It's private.”

Sherlock scrutinised Hamish. “Your looks?”

Nothing.

“Personality?”

No expression change, nothing.

“Family?”

Eyebrow twitch, gulp. Bingo.

“What about your family?”

Hamish sighed heavily. “You can't tell John, or my mum.”

Sherlock nodded. There was no way he would tell Grace anything about Hamish. They were roughly the same age, and as children had often been paired off at gatherings. She was a vicious, vindictive girl then, and had grown up into an abusive mother and layabout.

“They were talking about you and John. They called you poofs. And they...they asked if I was going to turn out as a faggot, like you both.”

A memory flooded back to Sherlock from school, and he immediately knew that the right thing to do socially was to tell Hamish. “When I was thirteen, just after I got to private school, some older boys started picking on me immediately. Mycroft had a boyfriend, and the boys constantly shouted homophobic slurs at me in the corridor. There was no love lost between myself and Mycroft, but I was becoming aware of my own sexuality and it annoyed me greatly. Eventually, I snapped and I punched a boy in the face. I got the cane for it, and then I was grounded for two weeks by my mother.”

Hamish looked surprised. “Mycroft's gay?”

Sherlock laughed. “That's what you took from that story?”

Hamish nodded, a grin crawling onto his face. “Yeah. What else was there to take from it?” he cheekily asked. 

“That other people have been in the same situation, you little mongrel.” Sherlock's own mouth quirked into a smile. “Look, I have to tell John.”

Hamish's eyes widened, and without control, he exclaimed, “No!”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to upset him.”

“Look, Hamish. I personally think that punching that disgusting little rat was justified. However, myself and John have very different opinions. If I explain what happened, he'll understand why you punched that boy. You're not in trouble here.”

Hamish sighed heavily and gave a slight nod. 

* * *

 

“That little _prat_ was being homophobic and Hamish punched him? Brilliant!”

Sherlock shook his head. “You're a fickle man, John.”

“We need to contact the school and let them know what happened, maybe they'll take the suspension off of his record or something.”

* * *

 

** EPILOGUE **

 

“Homophobia isn't a great concern here at St Isaac's – after all, we are a Christian school, and we find that gay parents do often disrupt the flow of school life.”

Sherlock glared at Mr Clarke, a man who he towered above. “If you don't punish the children who insulted Hamish, we will withdraw him from this school.”

Sherlock knew the connotations of what he said. Hamish had the Holmes family intelligence streak (despite his mother being the bad apple of the family) and he was a valued member of the school who brought them a lot of regard.

The next day, four boys were suspended for a day. A fifth boy, George, was suspended for a week.

 


End file.
